


Morning, Afternoon, In the Evening, Under the Moon

by Nakimochiku



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Journey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9214598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: Hakkai is struck with how much he loves Gojyo at every point of the day and night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Do I regret writing for the fandom like, 10 years too late? yeah, a little bit. but reread the series and got hit damn hard with 85, so here i am. you know that kids song "skidamarink"? that's where i got this title, and i'm not sorry.

4:00 AM

Gojyo is home tonight, snoring and sleep warm beneath his blankets. He curls like a child when he sleeps, long hair splayed over the pillow like a fresh splash of hot blood on snow, like luxurious red silk, like a swathe of fire.

Gojyo is home, and Hakkai is losing his mind.

He watches Gojyo snuffle, snuggle at his pillow, mouth soft and open as he breathes, hair sweeping across his face. He is beautiful and perfect. He is pure, unpolluted, palpably without sin.

Hakkai is caught between wanting to touch him, to take that perfection as his own, and wanting to ruin him.

Gojyo, oblivious and unconcerned, curled up to sleep, seems to want to be ruined. And there lies his conundrum.

Eventually, Hakkai forces his eyes closed, listens to the sound of the sheets on Gojyo’s bare skin and his soft breathing, and falls asleep.

7:30 PM

There are things Hakkai knows objectively: he doesn't own Gojyo. Gojyo is a person with thoughts, feelings, desires, urges, and he cannot influence that beyond a tight smile of displeasure and a passive aggressive word. Gojyo isn't some object that can be hidden in the cupboard like some shiny treasure, only to be brought out and looked at on special occasions. Gojyo doesn't know he’s doing this to him.

So it's just as well that he's so good at masking his emotions.

“Going out for a bit,” Gojyo announces, tossing off his sleep shirt that he’s been lounging in all afternoon. Its old, stretched and faded, so it slips over Gojyo’s shoulder, revealing more skin than it covers. His skin glows in the twilight, the only light in the house coming from the kitchen, casting him in deep shadow. His back muscles ripple, and he doesn't notice Hakkai watching.

He never notices Hakkai watching.

He moves like a panther, shimmying into his leather pants, long muscled legs encased in a second skin that leave nothing to the imagination. He digs through the closet, considering shirts, a belt, his shoes. His fly is still open, revealing a dark trail of hair so tempting Hakkai can barely tear his eyes away. “Ey, Hakkai, did you hear me?”

“I heard you.” He replies, voice soft.

“So did you want to come with?”

No, Hakkai wants to say. He wants to keep Gojyo in this shitty box of an apartment, touch his hair without reservation, hide him from prying eyes that he hates because he is just one of many. To think of himself as a moth to a flame is a crude analogy. But he is an animal stalking at the edge of a camp, wary and hungry, eyes glittering in the dark, waiting for the embers to die down.

“Sure,” Hakkai answers. Because maybe he knows, objectively, that Gojyo is not his, that won't stop the loud, subjective roar of his thoughts.

11:00 PM

Gojyo does not know he is a house in a storm, a light in the dark, a note of music to rend silence. He does not know he is the comfort of a blanket and a cup of tea, the heavy satisfaction of a good meal, the ache in the belly after a long hard laugh. He doesn't know he’s beautiful.

“S’freaking cold out!” He grouses, shrugging out of his coat and kicking off his boots.

“Oh?” Hakkai offers, gesturing to the mat he placed by the door to catch puddles. Obligingly, Gojyo sets up his boots neatly.

“Yeah, couldn't stay out too much longer. Heard it was gonna drop even lower.” He peels off his socks, his shirt. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are cherry red with cold, and he blows in his hands to warm them up.

Outside it snows in big fluffy flakes. “I'll get some soup ready for you.” Hakkai says, but Gojyo’s eyes are on the window, his hair a little damp with melting snow flakes so he only grunts.

“Remember Goku’s first hot pot?” Gojyo asks wistfully after a moment, smile curving his mouth.

What Hakkai remembers is this: Gojyo’s hair the brightest thing in the world against white clouds, white earth, white temple walls. His grin, his big voice, his laughter as he’d sparred with Goku for the last bit of meat, his sparkling eyes. The whole scene had narrowed down on him. “I do.”

“That was fun, we should do that again.” He smiles, lights a cigarette, and moves over to stand behind Hakkai at the stove, peering over his shoulder at the bubbling pot. “Put lotsa pepper,” he reminds. Hakkai makes conscious effort not to shiver, wringing a kitchen towel between his fingers to keep himself leashed. Gojyo’s cool fingers find his neck, slipping just under the collar of his pullover. “Aw man, you're so nice and warm!”

Gojyo doesn't know that he is the beauty of winter frosts on window panes and full moon nights. He does not know he is the beauty of a single bloom of a peony. But he knows he's the visceral kind of beauty with teeth, made of blood and bones and sex, and it is torture.

8:15 AM

Gojyo is soft and easy, eyes barely cracked open, yawning wide and unworried. His skin is sleep warm, when Hakkai touches his shoulder and sets his coffee before him, and like a lazy cat he leans into his fingers, yawns a greeting, and smacks him lips.

Something like ocean waves and hurricanes roar in his ears. He feels dangerous. He smiles, “good morning, sleep well?”

He knows the answer. He’d lain awake listening to Gojyo’s little noises, listened to the rustles of the sheets as he kicked and struggled and cried. Listened as he woke up in a fit and went out to the kitchen to smoke until the sun rose. The ashtray is empty now as though to hide the evidence.

“Had worse,” Gojyo murmurs, flicking his gaze up appraisingly. It is not a lie, and so he does not expect to be called on it. He looks back at his coffee and takes a casual sip. Daringly, boldly, Hakkai touches his hair, brushing a little back over his shoulder. Gojyo’s gaze is open and curious, and he hums a little to ask what Hakkai wants.

He makes it so easy. So trusting, so dangerous.

Hakkai feels his mouth water. He says, “your hair is quite tangled. You ought to take better care of it.” He moves to the other side of the table and sips at his tea. “What will your conquests say if you come around sporting a rats nest.”

“The ladies like it a little messy. Makes em wanna coo and mother hen me.” He smirks over the rim of the mug, nightmare forgotten, eyes dark. “Kinda like you i guess.”

Sometimes Hakkai wonders if Gojyo knows more than he lets on, and just pretends for decency and the sake of their friendship that all is well and Hakkai is not ripping himself apart wanting him. But then he sips at his coffee and laughs a little. “I dunno how you have it in you to nag so much,”

“If you just listened i wouldn't have to nag so much,” Hakkai replies mildly. Tension swirls still in his belly. Someone will break it, but it will not be him.

1:30 AM

The burn of alcohol in his belly does not fill the ache of want. Gojyo laughs a lot when he drinks. He becomes personable, regaling the bar’s patrons of his teenaged misadventures, and no one is truly listening but everyone is engaged because like him, they are all hungry.

Hakkai thinks perhaps their hunger is different than his.

The girls who drape over him are hungry, and the men who fill his cup and keep him talking and laughing are hungry. And Hakkai, who will drag him stumbling and slurring back home, strip him of his clothes and tuck him in, is the hungriest of them all.

“Hakkai!” Gojyo calls, waving at him. Hakkai waves back. “You remember that time right, when we went out to grab someone for Sanzo, and the bridge went out from under us? So I damn near drown right--” he's laughing as he tells it, but he hadn't been laughing then, red hair dark with water plastered to his face, getting in his mouth, slapping out at the water. That was the day Hakkai found out Gojyo couldn’t swim.

Hakkai orders some more sake, sips it delicately. Gojyo’s hand lays casual and familiar on the thigh of the girl next to him. She lays her head against his shoulder, and she seems a moment away from climbing into his lap. She is hungry. Hakkai feels emptier the longer he watches. In fact, he can’t take it any longer.

“And then-- Hakkai what happened after?” He blinks to find Hakkai suddenly in front of him, fingers around his wrist.

“Excuse me, everyone, I think it's time that I get this one home.” He settles the bill and pulls Gojyo up, wrapping his arms over his shoulders and tugging him away amidst the complaints of the other patrons.

“Don't wanna go home yet.” Gojyo mumbles. His head falls into the crook of Hakkai’s neck. His breath is hot in the frigid winter air, and smells of alcohol and something sweet. “Didn't even get to kiss any body.”

“Next time.” Hakkai assures. The statement is true, despite how much he wishes it wasn't.

2:00 PM

Hakkai has hot chocolate ready by the time Gojyo comes in from shoveling snow from the front walkway. Gojyo shivers and chatters and stamps his boots  

“Freaking cold!” He complains. He takes off his hat, an overlarge woolly thing a student knitted for Hakkai, then his mittens, and lays both on the hearth to dry. His hair sticks up with static, and he warms his fingers around the mug, tucking his toes beneath Hakkai’s thighs to warm those too. “We should move somewhere that's hot all the time. I'm sick of snow.”

He's been saying so every day since autumn gripped the earth and the leaves started to fall.

“Right right. Somewhere with mangoes I think. To send back to Goku.”

“Don't pretend,” Gojyo grins, poking Hakkai with his foot. “You just wanna eat mango yourself.”

Hakkai laughs, sips his chocolate, thinks of the sweet thick nectar of mangoes on Gojyo’s lips.

10:00 AM

It snowed so hard they couldn’t go anywhere the day before, and it's still snowing now. Gojyo lounges on the sole bed, hands behind his head. Hakkai watches the thick sheet of snow continue to come down.

“At this rate, I'll have to help you dig us out of here,” he sighs. Gojyo grunts and lights another smoke, blowing out into the air. He looks sensual like that, loose limbed, wide mouth and smiling lips, sucking in and pursing to breathe out.

Eventually he finishes his cigarette and falls asleep right there, legs dangling over the side of the bed. Hakkai thinks of lambs and wolves, rabbits and tigers, and wonders if Gojyo is testing him. Sometimes he wonders if he ever did hurt Gojyo, if the swell of insanity at the back of his throat and behind his eyes ever just burst, if Gojyo would hate him.

He doesn’t think Gojyo knows how to hate anything at all.

Gojyo’s flare of hair, bright as blood even in the half light, admonishes him even now. Don’t touch, Sinner, it reminds, even while he longs to fist great handfuls of that silky hair in his greedy fingers, tug Gojyo’s neck back and bite. He doesn’t deserve to touch.

He bites his lip and turns away, looking for something to clean, to organize. Anything to distract him from the helpless lamb spread on his bed like a gift.

2:25 AM

The house is silent without Gojyo. The world is silent, blanketed in snow so thick everthing else seems to be asleep, Hakkai shuts his eyes, but the dark behind his lids seem more oppressive than the dark ceiling. The futon where Gojyo sleeps, just an arm's length from the bed, is neat, laid out for him to fall into drunk.

Gojyo is not home tonight, and Hakkai is losing his mind.

Gojyo had invited him out, as always, and he’d refused, as always. He does not regret it but he wishes he could measure which is worse, watching the loose movements of Gojyo’s hands, pulling all travelling satellites into his gravitational pull as easy as breathing, or staying home and knowing he’s doing it just the same.

The hunger gnaws at his belly, sweet hot torment.

He wants to touch, and he cannot. He wants to speak and he cannot.

Hakkai squeezes his eyes shut, tries to become as silent as the snow, and find his own peace before Gojyo can stumble home.

5:00 PM

Gojyo is laying on the couch when he gets back from the market, dusting snow from the paper bag out the door. It’s dark already, and snowing again. One leg is hiked up on the back of the couch, the other on the floor, splayed and inviting. Hakkai quickly averts his eyes, setting jars of fruit preserves on the table,

“You just got home and you’re already brooding?”

“I’m not brooding, I’m thinking.”

“With you it's all the same shit.” He lets his head tip back, almost like baring his throat, all that red hair spilling over his shoulder, the line of his jaw so precise Hakkai longs to bite until he mars and blends it. He looks away away again and starts organizing the jars. There's cherry preserves, Gojyo’s favourite, and if he doesn't hide it Gojyo will devour them in one go, as gluttonous and incapable of self restraint as Goku is. “See,” Gojyo cajoles, and grins, bright and wide. “Now you ain't brooding.”

He supposes it's the little affectionate smile that crossed his mouth, thinking about Gojyo with thick red cherry syrup smeared around his lips, on the tip of his nose, licking his fingers and seriously considering breaking the jar to lick that too. He wonders how Gojyo can see all that and still be ignorant of the heat he sometimes regards him with, not be able to guess.

But then, he thinks Gojyo is used to everyone looking at him like that.

3:45 AM

He cries in his sleep, curled up so tight he's lost beneath the covers, only the brush of his hair, like red flowers peeping over the top. Hakkai longs to reach out. Pet his hair until the whimpers stop, tell him he's beautiful as the red dawn, treacherous as a red sunset.

He does none of this. Soon enough Gojyo will wake with a startled gasp, will glance around with a look akin to resignation at his continued existence. He will smoke, and perhaps he will go back to sleep. In the morning, he will pretend he does not even know what a nightmare is. That is part of Gojyo’s beauty too.

Outside the snow keeps falling, the sky crisp fluffy white. The quiet winter night is broken only by bitten off sobs. He thinks sometimes he hears quiet words of absolution, a small and pitying forgiveness, the childlike babble of nonsense words of comfort.

He imagines they are for him.

7:40 PM

“Have you ever wanted something but held back from taking it?” there are images of domesticity between them, a bowl of sweet potatoes, reheated rice, two cans of beer sweating and leaving rings on the table. Hakkai hates and cherishes them equally.

Gojyo looks up, his eyes flash a little, the way they do when he’s taking something seriously. Then it's gone and he smiles, dishing up another portion of sweet potato. “Do Ilook like the kind of person who knows anything about self denial?”

Hakkai allows a chuckle. “No, I suppose you don’t.” he waits, pushes at his food, thinks of all the times he’s wanted to touch. Thinks of reaching over right now, touching the generous curve of Gojyo’s mouth, the silk of his hair, the warm bronze of his bare shoulder. “What if holding back meant protecting something delicate? Would you do it then?”

“There something you’re holding back from?” Gojyo looks at him pointedly, setting down his fork, running his fingers back through his hair so it spills through his fingers, baring his twin scars. During moments like these Hakkai thinks Gojyo knows, and it stings, two hunters circling each other in the night, each waiting for the other to break first. “You know, I’ve learned that when people say they're doing something for someone else, they're really doing it for themselves.” he picks up his fork again, waves it idly. “Some delicate things want to be broken. If you want it, don’t hold back, reach out for it.”

Beneath the table, Hakkai’s fists clench. The fine bones of Gojyo’s hands are delicate, the narrow bridge of his nose is delicate, the sharp angle of his collarbone is delicate. Sometimes he is afraid he will break them all, like handling a bird. Sometimes he is afraid he wants to.

“It's not fair that you do this to me, and expect me to be okay.” Hakkai hisses venomously. He didn’t mean to say anything. Didn’t mean to give himself away, but the words spill out like sand just the same. “I can’t just reach out. And you can’t just ask me to. It’s not fair.”

Gojyo blinks at him, frowns. “Tough.” He drawls at last. He could pretend he doesn't understand, but he lights a cigarette, leans back in his chair completely at ease. “Most things ain't fair.” he finishes his sweet potato, flicking his ash away with his other hand, every move smooth, graceful, calculated. He’s beautiful, and he’s delicate. “If you want something, reach out for it.”

“Because delicate things want to be broken?”

“Precisely.”

“But what if I don’t want to break them?”

Gojyo shrugs, delicate bones, delicate heart, delicate smile. “Maybe that needs to be broken too.”

3:30 PM

“Fuck, I’m tired,” Gojyo sighs, propping Hakkai up on one shoulder and fumbling in his pockets for the keys. He pauses, tries to breathe. His breath rattles in his chest around a broken rib and if Hakkai weren't so tired, he would open the door for him, get them both in out of the cold.

As it stands he chuckles weakly and slumps a little heavier against Gojyo’s lean frame. “Tell me about it.”

“One of these days,” Gojyo grumbles. “One of these damn missions is gonna kill us.” He leans them both against the door, adjusts his hold on Hakkai’s bruised and aching side and shoves the key in the lock. “Then where’ll that high and mighty monk be without his errand boys.”

“Imagine Sanzo actually doing his own work.” Hakkai chirps.

Actually, he wants to say, some day we’ll die because you'll have pulled punches. Someday the largeness of your heart will outweigh your desire to win, your compassion will doom me. He doesn't say anything because he thinks that is a glorious end.

Gojyo’s hands are so gentle on his bruises, even now.

“Get us inside, I can't feel my fingers.”

“When you can stand on your own you can complain.” But he hurries just the same, dragging them both in over the threshold. He dumps Hakkai on the sofa, teeters and says “I’ll heat up some left overs. We still have soup right?”

11:35 AM

“What do you want for lunch, Gojyo?” Hakkai calls from the kitchen, tying his apron in place. He pokes his head out to look at him. Gojyo throws down the shoe he was shining and wipes his hands on his rag. His smile is roguish, his body loose and long, the snow sends light bouncing through the windows to dance on his skin.

“Depends, what’s on the menu?” his tone tips suggestively, husky sweet, the voice he uses on girls at the bar, the voice that pulls celestial bodies to him like satellites. He tosses Hakkai a wink. “I might want something sweet, y’know?”

Hakkai smiles and turns away, throwing a light laugh out as he heads back into the kitchen where he can’t see temptation incarnate. “Pancakes sound good to you then?”

Gojyo is the kind of beauty made of sex, teeth, blood. He uses it all like a weapon, but never knows how deep he cuts.

12:00 AM

“You’re not half as dangerous as you think you are.” Gojyo says into the dark, voice rough even though he’s been awake for hours, circadian rhythms thrown off by a nap.

“Aren’t I?” Even though Gojyo can’t see it, Hakkai smiles. Because it’s a humorous thought really. He is dangerous.

“Not to me.” Gojyo sounds resolute.

“Especially to you.” Hakkai answers. He hears Gojyo move and suddenly he’s beside him on the futon, trailing the scent of cigarettes and lilies, so close his hair tickles Hakkai’s face. This is dangerous, but Gojyo doesn’t seem to know it just yet, his fingers curled around the back of Hakkai’s neck and one knee between his thighs.

“I’m indestructible.” Gojyo says, voice hard and certain. There is no confident tilt to his mouth or egotistical slant of sparkling eyes. It’s just the truth. “I’m made of strong stuff, you know? There’s nothing you can do to me.”

“There’s plenty I could do to you.” Hakkai says more roughly than he means to, like the growl of a demon, hands coming up to grip Gojyo’s hips hard, digging in with his nails. Run, he wants to say, You drive me crazy. I’ve never felt closer to the brink than when you look at me and smile. But Gojyo doesn’t run, he doesn’t even stiffen. He’s so stubborn, so sure. His mouth is right there, lips parted, leaning in, eyes deep and open and inviting. “There's so much I want to do to you,” He whispers.

Gojyo laughs, husky and easy, pressing closer. “Is it okay that I’ll let you?”

Hakkai tucks his face against Gojyo’s throat so he doesn’t have to look at him, just feeling his steady heartbeat, the jump of his muscles as he swallows, the gale of his breath. “You shouldn’t.” he says at last. “You shouldn’t be so kind to me.”

Gojyo laughs again. “This isn’t kindness. I’m selfish, all the way through.”

Hakkai laughs too. That isn’t true, but he’ll let Gojyo have the pretense. When they kiss it is as spicy sweet as Hakkai imagines. Gojyo is gentle, tender where he expected him to be all passion and intensity. He melts to Hakkai’s questing tongue like caramel and chocolate, his mouth wet and warm even as his teeth nip at Hakkai’s lips and he smiles teasingly into the kiss when Hakkai makes a frustrated and hungry little noise.

They kiss like that forever it seems, until Gojyo’s lips are as red as his eyes, as his hair, as his cheeks, flushed all over and breathing hard. They kiss to crush delicate things between the two of them.

4:00 AM

Gojyo curls like a child when he sleeps, legs trapping Hakkai’s thigh, arms around his waist, his head is pillowed just beneath Hakkai’s ribcage. His mouth is soft and open, hair spilled across Hakkai’s belly, stark against his scar like he's bleeding all over again.

Hakkai predictably loses his mind.

He wonders if Gojyo will regret it. If he’ll take back this gift he's given, a gift of bronze skin glistening with sweat and half shut eyes, breathless moans and trembling muscles.

Gojyo snuffles, smacks his lips. “Go to sleep, Hakkai.” he grumbles, just once. Eventually Hakkai forces his eyes shut, feels Gojyo’s steady pulse beneath his fingertips, and falls asleep.


End file.
